Fractured
by August Mayhem
Summary: Conversation is so much more than just words. It's thought, and history. The body, lies, and secrets. Tells. When Pike first met Jim in the bar, he missed so much while speaking to him. And really, the blame for unleashing Kirk on them all could be laid at his feet.


No edits! This idea popped into my head whilst re-watching Star Trek: 2009. The looks Jim gives Pike in the bar spawned this. Blame Chris Pine. -August

.x.

"You can whistle really loud you know that?"

Inwardly he cringes, he sounds punch-drunk. Which, okay fine, he took a few hits to the head, but come on. He's survived worse, been dealt far more horrific blows, given fatal hits in return.

But in that moment, addled from blows to the head, more alcohol than he should have drunk swimming through his veins, and a face he recognizes but has no desire to see, it's the best he can come up with when the ringing fades from his (bloodied) ears.

An hour later, after everyone has cleared out, and the bar has closed and the last of the clean-up is taking place, Jim sits across from the (unwanted) man. This Starfleet crony.

Jim's head has cleared some, the spinning and dizziness faded away, though the blood still mars his face.

(Proof of battle. Wounded but not broken, _you'll never break me_.)

"You know I couldn't believe it when the bartender told me who you are."

James Tiberius Kirk. George Kirk's son. Winona Kirk's son. A ( _in_ )famous name to everyone in Starfleet. The hailed hero, a martyr for his people. Saviour. To Eight. Hundred. People.

"And who am I Captain Pike?"

(The Prodigal Son. The dead son. The lost one. Unwanted. The Killer. Harbinger. _Survivor_. )

"Your father's son." A wealth of information. He knew George. Had been scholarly rivals, friends, fought over the same girls. Won(lost) Winona. Emotionally compromised. Dissertation of the Kelvin. Favour.

An intense look, designed to garner a reaction. Jim gives him one.

Dead blue eyes glance up through lidded eyes before rolling insouciantly, "Can I get another one?" He knows he will. Either on the house or paid for by the Captain. Because of a favour, because of the past, because of who he is.

(Take advantage while it's there. You _never know when you might lose_ something.)

"For my dissertation I was assigned the USS Kelvin-"

He knew that. He'd known that for years. Years and years. For a while it was all he could do, look up stuff about this faceless person that everyone compared him to. ( _You took him_.) Why he wasn't there. ( _Took his Life_.) Jim knew this man, who he was, what he did. Why he even here now. ( _Everybody_ wants something. To get what you want, you _need to know what they want_.)

"-Something I admired about your dad. He didn't believe in no win scenarios."

A shining example for the rest of the lowly peons struggling through. A pillar of strength, a symbol. [Deified: to make a god of.]

A bitter taste washes a bruised throat. Regrethateloss. Untroubled. A snort. Derision.

"He sure learned his lesson." (So did I. But mine never let me go. It killed others and made me watch them bleed. Scarswoundsblood. Drowning in blood. The sweet tang of life slipping away. The constant struggle of pushing on.)

"Well that depends on how you define winning; you're here aren't you?" Defensive. Ungrateful of the loss suffered. The sacrifice given.

His beer is brought over. A half glance and a shrug, _sure, let's say I'm here_.

(Am I? Was I ever? _You took him, give him back!_ Unwanted. Alone. Fractured and broken. _Who am I?_ )

"You know that instinct, to leap without looking, that was his nature too; and something in my opinion, Starfleet has lost." _Pleading, leading, go this way Jim, follow this path, come with us._

Unwanted. ( _I go my own way_.)

"Why are you talkin' to me man?" An easy grin, a throw-away smile. A jest. To put others at ease, let them think you're joking, comfortable. (A lie.)

"'Cause I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor." Condescension. Look at what you've become. ( _I know you can do better_.)

A gimlet stare hidden behind a bloodied visage, eyes squinted in good humour (don't let them see). Calculation. Mouth open, ready to grin (bare your teeth, let the world see the blood you've spilt.)

"Your aptitude tests are off the charts, so what is it? You like being the only genius level repeat offender in the Midwest?"

Shift head to the side, casual dismissal. Look back, daring in hidden eyes, "Maybe I love it."

He hasn't been here for years. Not in almost two decades. Files are easy to hack if you know how. And he does. He always has. Easier still to rewrite. Falsify. Doctor. Make better. Hide the bruises and the shadows. (Don't let them see you bleed.)

"So your dad dies, you can settle for a less ordinary life."

[Settle: to be satisfied with] ( _Less_.)

Because he chose the life he's trod. The hardship and the trauma. The abuse. The death. To kill or die. And lose yourself in the end. To have to rebuild who you are.

Who. A form. Following the function of what. What are you? What am I.

"-But do you feel you were meant for something better? [Pause.] Something Special?" An entreaty. _A ploy_. An offering of distinction. Honour. Prestige. Celebrity.

It's been taken before. Paraded in front of you like the most perfect treat. _Illusions_. You are known. Have been your whole life. (Splintered, riven and intact.)

(Special means you die quicker.)

An eyebrow quirks and is dropped, a sniff to the side. Derisive and dismissive. A statement of its own.

A gray head ducks to come back up (Comes back around for another attack. Another angle.), "Enlist in Starfleet."

"Enli-?" He laughs. It is light. Hides the darkness. Join with what killed his father. Join the thing that brought death to his family (to him). Become what broke his mother, destroyed him, laid waste to what could have ( _should have_ ) been.

"You guys must be way down in your recruiting quota for the month."

Why else? Why take what is broken? You don't start with broken pieces when attempting greatness.

"If you're half the man your father was Jim, Starfleet could use you."

Blue eyes freeze, glacial and implacable. Half the man his father was. Greatness (Fear me). Broken. ( _Special_.) No one wants to be used.

(Been there. Been used. Foolish. Broken. Brought down. False pedestals. Forged anew. Sharp. Brittle. _Use what I can, take what I need_. Break them down. Shatter them in tiny fragments and watch them fall into nothingness. _Victory_.)

He licks the blood on his lips.

"You can be an officer in four years. You can have your own ship in eight." Cajoling. Appeals. Entice.

(Pedestrian.)

Rules are not for you. James T Kirk beholden to the averages of others, the mediocrity. Stagnation. The deception of moving forward. ( _Extermination_.)

"You understand what the Federation is don't you?"

Pretentious. Self-serving. Bright colours mean death and destruction. (The loss of all we knew.)

"-It's important. It's a peace-keeping and humanitarian armada-" (LIES.)

False hope. [ _Tarsus_.] Too little, too late. A pretty veneer over a harsh truth. No classes (but some are worth more ( _Give him back to me!_ )).

"Are we done?" Dissatisfied. Annoyed. (How dare he presume to _know_ , entreat to lead us forward.)

A stony stare (not reaching through). Adult choice. Gone as far as he can, "I'm done."

A look that says Then Go. You had your chance. Let me be.

A last ditch effort, "Riverside Shipyard. The shuttle for new recruits leaves tomorrow at 0800."

Raise a glass, good job. Thank you. Vague acknowledgement of his endeavour.

The broken grimace of a man watching his friend's child waste away, uncaring of the loss.

"You know… Your father was captain for twelve minutes," Because you've never heard that before. Grew up surrounded by those facts ( _Be more like George_.), roll blue eyes in exasperation.

"-He saved eight hundred lives. Including your mother's-"

My mother? I had an adult. A genetic donor. Never a parent. _Never a mother_.

"And yours." Death stretches from his feet, reaching out behind him in a never ending shadow of failure and loss. George should have lived. The never-ending destruction. The cessation ( _they gave up_ ). The eternal parting that always trailed after him.

( _He should have died_.)

"I dare you to do better."

Pick up the salt shaker. Shaped like a federation ship. (Never tell me the odds.) A torn and bloody wolf shifts rust-coloured fur. A play of sleek muscle hidden in shadows. Sharp teeth glint with blood.

( _I will Live_.)

Watch me.


End file.
